Dreaming Of You
by Princesa andrmeda
Summary: Simon Lewis dreams of people he never met, in places he never knew existed. More often than not, he dreams with voice in Spanish muttering to his ear in a low tone. (Semi-AU) (Saphael)
1. Chapter 1

This fanfiction is set after _City of Heavenly Fire_ , right after Izzy and Clary went to visit Simon when he had amnesia, also, it's almost been a year since I last read it, and so some things might be wrong. If you remember more than I do, feel free to tell me when I'm wrong about some facts. Please do enjoy the story if you're a fan of Shapael. ;D

* * *

Simon didn't notice ha had been staring in the direction the girl had left until he heard some snickering behind him, he gave Erick and Kirk a curious glance over his shoulder. "Huh? What's so funny?"

"We just never pictured you as someone who was famous with girls, that one redhead right now seemed like holding tears when you didn't recognize her," Erick answered, slightly amused.

"I guess I didn't notice…" Simon trailed off as he stared once more the spot where the last glimpse of ginger had disappeared in the crowd. "I think it must have something to do with our band growing famous," he assured with a side-smirk tugging in his whitish face. His friends stared at each other in amusement, clearly not buying that. "What? Perhaps it is…" he shrugged and sighed. "Anyway, we better get going guys, we're gonna be late for practice," he glanced back at the street, motioning to the path to take. Erick and Kirk shared one last glance before following his lead.

.

Practice went by uneventful, as was the concert that night, and Simon wouldn't lie if he said he had been disappointed in not seeing that beautiful redhead in the concert, he had given her a free pass! (Giving her his number would've been more helpful, though, ugh, and just now he thought about it, what an idiot.) Anyway, supposed-childhood-friends and boring evenings aside, Simon got home and announced himself on his arrival.

"I'm home, mom!" He said as he got the keys out and hung his jacket near the door.

"I'm glad, Simon, how was your day today?" She greeted him from the kitchen and Simon walked to her.

"Rather interesting, do you remember a redheaded girl who used to be my friend in kindergarten?" Elaine stared at some odd point in the ceiling for a couple of moments before shaking her head.

"Never heard of her," she assured as she prepared the dinner for that night. "Now, get yourself clean, dinner's almost ready."

.

Simon couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but now every time he talked to his mother or sister they seemed different, sure, they acted as they had their whole lives, and Simon was pretty sure they still would even if he was some kind of sick murderer, but… the emotion in their eyes when they talked to him was not the same as before, and he was sure they even weren't aware of it. Or when it happened, for that matter.

Simon sighed as he sprawled himself on his bed, all those anime posters were still hung in the walls of his bedroom and it was messy as usual. He stared at his computer, considering going for some social media, but gave it a thought and nah, because it was _really_ late, and he was _really_ tired and whatnot, he wanted to sleep.

So he walked to his closet and took out some sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, changed himself onto his night clothes and went to blissful dreamland.

.

 _The scenery was blurry but it seemed very obvious to him he was in the public library near his house, it was nighttime, which was weird since the only times he ever came to the library were at day to gather information for school project. He could feel the wind gushing in his ears and even if the jacket he was wearing was somewhat thin, he didn't feel cold at all. Nor did he feel hot. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all other than expectation._ Expectation for what?

 _He took a deep breath he was pretty sure he didn't need to live, only to calm his nerves with the very notion of being alive. Or rather, undead._

 _He heard some rumbling close to him so he turned around to meet whatever was making that noise, some fire got out of the engines of a motorcycle and a person with a black leather jacket climbed out of it. Simon couldn't quite make out the features of this strange person, other than the color of his skin and hair, but he was pretty sure this person was…_

" _Ra—"_

Simon woke up with a start to the sound of his alarm, almost forgetting who he was, where he was, and what he was doing. Small droplets of sweat running his forehead and ending in his chin. He let himself fall back into bed and siiiiiighed, because the whole situation of waking up _startled_ was ridiculous to him. He covered his face with his hands because the whole part of getting worked up for it was ridiculous.

His alarm clock ended up in the floor from the huge smack Simon gave it, but he didn't mind, that alarm clock had survived to its encounter with Mr. Floor a couple hundred of times, he could survive another one.

And so, with the relief of routine, he forgot all about what he almost dreamt.

.

"Hey, Simon, I was saying we should go to this restaurant tonight," Simon looked up to Kirk not being pleased at being ignored. He tried to make it up to him by feigning enthusiast at the forecoming event some hours later.

"Sure, what restaurant are we talking about?" Perhaps it could help him think about his new song and stuff, inspiration was something precious and could be found anywhere. Anytime.

"This place called 'Java Jones', I heard it's pretty famous and the waitresses are cute, so, whaddya say?" Kirk smirked, the maybe-you'll-finally-find-a-girlfriend type of smirk. Simon rolled his eyes.

"Sound nice to me."

.

"Are you going to keep staring or you'll finally order something?" Kirk had been right at the workers being a huge attractive to the place, but it hadn't been precisely females what caught his attention (not that he was _gay_ or anything, the guy just seemed familiar, alright?). It had been a rather short-tempered Spaniard. Or at least he sounded like a Spaniard by his accent. " _Joder_ , you look like an idiot." This finally got Simon out of his trance.

"U-uhm, sorry, I…" he stuttered, not quite knowing what to say. That he was familiar? That he had probably seen him somewhere else? That he had dreamt him? Déjà vu? "…I mistook you for someone else." Yeah, that sounded safe.

The waiter just scoffed. "Whatever, so, are you going to order?" He had a hand on his hip, and Simon found himself staring at it, though not as intently as he had with the waiter.

"I'll just have a soda right now, I'm not really hungry," he shrugged, and the waiter scoffed again, probably considering Simon a waste of his time.

"Please enjoy your stay at the Java Jones." And he left to retrieve the orders he had piled up.

.

 _He was laying down in a bed, it was soft, and someone besides him was talking. He could make out a white skin, sexy body type, high heels and a black hair curtain. She was beautiful._

 _She was saying something about his father cheating on her mother and about members of the Circle? The heck was that?_

 _What was it, he couldn't decipher, her velvety voice was growing blurrier as he seemed to regain whatever steadiness of reality he had._

 _He was close to remembering… "Izzy…"_

And that close came back to nothing as the alarm woke Simon up.


	2. Chapter 2

Simon looked around the small coffee shop he was to meet the stranger in. it was a little too much to his tastes, but it wasn't like he could help that. He was to meet someone called… called… Meg…

He checked again the name in the palm of his hand. There it was, Magnus Bane. He browsed between the crowds for any sign of someone fitting the looks of an eccentric person. Or so the person on the phone had described himself as.

Sitting in a far corner and making small gestures to catch his attention, was the very personification of eccentric. His eyes marked with black in the outlining, cat-slit-like pupils, hair spiked up with gel (it _was_ gel, right? Because it was a little gel-ish? Perhaps it stood like that on its own?, who knows), _sparkles everywhere_ (his hair, face, clothes… heck, if Simon didn't know better he would've sword the man was _made_ of sparkles) and a shit-eating grin to match his feline eyes.

"Sherwin, it's so nice to see you again," the man greeted as soon as he sat in front of him. "It's been _soooo_ long." He tilted his head and his smile turned a tiny-wit softer. But it was still a grin.

"Uh… do we know each other?" He asked, omitting the fact that he was _Simon_ and not _Sherwin_. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I would remember someone as… outstanding as you."

Magnus clasped his hands together, seeming amused by it all. "It is to be expected that you don't remember me, my dear Sheldon—"

"It's _Simon…_ "

"—because your memory was wiped out."

 _Right, as if_.

He didn't realize he had said that out-loud until he saw the expression of slight hurt on Magnus' face. He didn't feel anything because of that, however.

"Listen," and there we go, _the talk_. "Everyone that knows me is quite aware of how much of a Comics fan I am, and while I do think that _hypothetically_ living the life of a Comic or anime protagonist's life would be super cool, it does not fit my personality." His face acquired an unusual seriousness only seen by a few, and it wasn't like he meant it to be that way, it just did. His features grew slightly sharper and his brows furrowed a little bit, and with every word he said, Magnus' expression seemed to fall a little more. "If I ever get to be a character, it wouldn't main nor close to it, I'd be, at most, a comic-relief character, pretty much like Hagrid from Harry Potter or R2d2 from Star Wars…" he stared at the window and grabbed his, up until now, untouched coffee, taking a long, reflective sip from the porcelain cup.

Magnus gave a long sigh, devoid of his any drama that was so typical of him. "I'm sorry you think like that." He stared at the same spot where Simon's view was, as if analyzing it. "My, my, would you look at the time," he exclaimed as he looked at his phone. "I'm late to an appointment." He grabbed his (sparkled) jacket and wrapped it around his (fabulous) torso. "Do me a favor, will you, Sherlock? Two favors, actually."

Simon didn't move his gaze from whatever had caught it across the window. "What?"

"Please think about it, if you ever have something a Dejà-vú, or a glimpse of memory, call me to this number," he extended a card to Simon's side of the table.

Simon gave what would seem like a rather tired sigh. Resigned. "Okay, fine. Second favor?"

Magnus gave another grin, slightly coquette but not totally flirting. "Try the borscht before you leave, Simon. It's fantastic."

Simon was only able to move his head up after Magnus had exited the place, the doorbell ringing behind him. He felt startled, not only for the capacity of the man to finally say his name right, but because the phrase had seemed familiar from somewhere else. But he couldn't exactly remember where from, though.

* * *

He'd be lying if he said he didn't think about Magnus' proposal afterwards. He was considering it thoroughly. But he wouldn't admit it not even to himself, he had this instinct to stay away from whatever that weird guy was talking about. And so he would keep to himself.

His mother often asked about his well-being and was pretty much paranoid. She would constantly ask Simon via text messages or phone calls of his whereabouts, who he was with, and when he would be home. And even if she didn't reprimand him, he could feel some tension between the two arise sometimes. They were small periods but enough for Simon to suspect something was up.

And yet, the situation felt familiar, almost as if he had…

No. He absolutely, under no circumstance would believe anything that guy had said. He didn't have another life he had been made to forget of, he wasn't the main character of some world-wide romance novel nor was he an anime character. He would've noticed. Duh.

He felt something stir in his chest, as if he was missing something. He clutched his hands to where his heart should be, and panicked when he noticed his chest wasn't rising and falling like it should.

He breathed in and out, finally feeling okay again. He hadn't been breathing, that was why he felt like that. He wasn't feeling emptiness or anything of the sorts. He wasn't missing having a friend he could talk about this to. He didn't have any. He couldn't possibly talk about how the notion of not breathing had felt so _natural_ to him, hadn't he remembered oxygen was necessary for the human to live, he would keep not breathing.

Creepy.

And so he decided maybe a walk was good once in awhile to clean his lungs.

And his reason.

* * *

The chilly, autumn-night breeze seemed relaxing at most, as it ruffled Simon's hair and hit his face. And as it was customary in NYC, lights could be seen everywhere announcing in harsh whispers the many wonders night-life had to offer.

But Simon didn't really have the time nor did he feel like dealing with all that, he wanted, most of all, to clear his head of all the madness that threatened to lure over his head the whole time. This is how he ended up in a rather silent café near a park.

The lights blinked softly over an improvised stage where people would go and try to entertain the customers, there were people trying to joke, people trying to perform, and people who just didn't know what the fuck they were doing.

"Do you wish to order anything?" Simon glanced over to the person greeting him, and he found himself flabbergasting again.

He was barely a boy, that was apparent from his appearance: his hair was styled in a mess of dark curls and his dark eyes had an inquisitive yet disinterested air to them.

"Um, no," Simon answered remembering quite vividly the incident the other night. And he was sure the waiter remembered it too. "I'll wait a little to decide."

The boy just shrugged. "Whatever, if you don't make up your mind in ten minutes I'll kick you out," and with that half-hearted threat hanging in the air, he left to attend another table.

Perhaps a croissant wasn't a bad night treat.

* * *

Or, he could buy two croissants, three cups of coffee and other treats the place offered. He would have to say goodbye to any hope of sleeping tonight…

"You're still here?" his head looked up to the same waiter that had greeted him (but not the one that had taken his order at the end).

"Uh, yeah, I guess I am, why?" he asked, trying his best not to start talking without making any sense (he was well-known for that). He scratched his head a little, feeling reaaally uncomfortable under the piercing gaze of the boy.

"Just sheer curiosity…" and curiosity indeed.

Only then did it occur to Simon to look around and notice he was pretty much the last client in the whole place—well, there was that lovey-dovey pair over there, but they didn't draw all that much attention like the nerdy kid sitting near the window, fumbling awkwardly with the tablecloth and his glasses' frame—. And as if adding weirdness to the whole situation, the waiter sat in front of Simon, earning eyes as wide as his glasses.

"W-what are you doing?" He managed to stutter.

"What does it look like?" asked the waiter, sassy as he could be. "Sitting, of course, my shift already ended and I had cleaning duty, but I have to wait until you are out."

Well, that made sense.

"Oh." Simon grabbed the spoon and started to spin it inside the coffee cup, hoping for it to distract him from the barely-seeable-but-very-noticeable presence of that Hispanic guy—or at least he seemed like a Hispanic, his accent and his looks told that much—. He shifted for the umpteenth time in his seat, trying to seem uninterested.

"So…" he said, trying to regain conversation, or whatever sense of socialness he had. "I never really learned your name." And as he said it, he realized just how utterly _stupid_ that was. He had phrased it like they knew each other.

"Why would it matter to you?"

Simon shrugged. "I dunno, I just like calling people by their names, I guess." And just like that, they went back to silence.

Simon stared at the window, thinking yet again at the conversation he had had with Magnus about his memory being wiped… why would they ever feel the need to, anyways? Was it something to do with supernatural beings and such? Perhaps vampires, vampires were really cool…

"Something deep in mind?" And yet again, that purring voice dragged him back from his dangerously straying thoughts as they considered the wild possibility of that guy being right.

"Nothing really…" he said, sighing, hoping _he_ could believe that. "I just… have you ever felt like you were meant to be somewhere else, but it would be like, impossible for that to be true? Like you're missing parts on your life?" There was something close to recognition in the boy's eyes, but as it had appeared, it was already gone.

"You're not on drugs, are you?"

So much for an atmosphere.

"What? No, I mean it." He sighed again. "You know what? Nevermind."

Simon huffed, placing his chin in one of his hands, staring absentmindedly as the boy's face was adorned with a small grin. He got up, placed 50 bucks on the table, and neared the exit as he heard a voice coming from his back.

"Raphael Santiago." And he froze dead in his tracks. He _had_ heard that name before.

"What?" He asked, hoping the shock in his voice wasn't that noticeable.

"My name," replied Raphael. "It's Raphael Santiago."

And as his voice rolled a little over the 'R', Simon could picture him, a small boy lost in a hotel…

"I'll remember that."

* * *

 _Ring…— ring…—_

"Hello?" Answered a sleepy voice. "Who is it?"

"Um, yeah, Magnus?" Asked Simon uncertainly while he fidgeted a little with the card he had given him earlier that day. "Are you still available to recover my so-called 'memories'?"

"Oh, Sheldon, yeah, we can do that, but, can we please arrange it in the morning? It's 2 in the morning…"

"Ok…" and he hung up.

* * *

 _Hey…_ ~ I know, I tend to disappear a lot, mostly because I procrastinate and read instead of getting anything productive done. I'm really sorry about that, I'll have to fix that. Hopefully my sickness will allow me to spend more time home and able to write. _Ahem_ , another thing I wanted to say is, yes, the first scene was an allusion to the fourth book, I did use Simon's and Izzy's dialogues at Magnus' goodbye. I'm also sorry if the last scenes seem a little shitty, I always feel like they are.

P.S: I was browsing a little, and remembered that Raphael was Mexican instead of a Spaniard, so many Shadowhunters' fics gave me the impression he was Spanish. :P Sorry if I caused some confusion as well (though I don't think I made allusions to his nationality in the first chapter, but whatever).

Matane!


End file.
